Even a whisper of hazing is enough for a sorority's national headquarters to crack down. One former sorority member explains why that's the real problem with the Greek system.

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I've read horror stories about hazing at schools other than my own. While I pledged a sorority and was technically "hazed," I didn't experience anything like what you hear about — I was never deprived of sleep, humiliated, or forced to participate in drinking games. I'm confident that lots of other girls would say the same thing.

During the three-month process of officially joining my sorority, we were told to follow certain rules: We had to wear business casual clothes on campus, and we had tote bags we had to carry everywhere. Sometimes the older sisters would see us on campus, make sure we had our totes, and give us little trinkets to carry around — like if one girl was really into dolphins, maybe she'd give you a plastic dolphin. It was innocent and even dumb, but the focus was on getting to know the older sisters. They'd do stuff like give us notebooks and tell us to interview each other. It all seemed harmless!

Some of the new members were overwhelmed by the time commitment (during pledging, you meet almost every day), but other than that, no one complained or seemed upset about the hazing. Drugs, booze, and sex acts were never involved. Sure, sometimes a sister would get out-of-control drunk at a frat house on the weekend, but that wasn't associated with the pledging process.

Then, at a chapter meeting at the end of our pledging period, the older sisters announced we were being investigated for hazing. They seemed anxious, but they told us to be honest with the reps from Nationals about our experiences. Later, I heard a rumor that a sister who had disaffiliated from the sorority, supposedly because she couldn't afford the membership dues and was holding a grudge about it, had filed a complaint with the national board. I wondered if I should be nervous, but our pledging period continued like normal, so it didn't seem like that big of a deal.

But days before I was officially initiated into my sorority, our entire chapter was interrogated by three middle-aged women who held leadership roles on the sorority's national board. The subject of the interrogation was whether or not the existing members of our college chapter had "hazed" us.

For 45 minutes I was pummeled with questions about every interaction I'd had with my sorority for the past three months. They asked what the sisters asked me to do and how they had asked me to do it, threatening that if I didn't answer truthfully there could be "consequences." But I felt like I couldn't tell my version of the truth — when I tried to say that I liked the get-to-know-you games, they twisted my words around. "Oh, they made you conduct an interview in a certain time frame? That's not OK," they'd say with a disapproving click of the tongue. I was worried about getting the older sisters in trouble — these girls I'd spent the first few months of my freshman year becoming close with — and that our sorority would be disbanded altogether.

The entire interrogation lasted for 12 consecutive hours. It was on a Saturday in one of the dorms that had a conference room — they called each of us in individually while the rest of us sat in the hallway, waiting. We weren't allowed to talk or use our phones (though someone brought us sandwiches for lunch). The entire setup was intimidating, as if we were already guilty. Some of my would-be sisters would leave the room in tears, then sit in the hallway quietly crying.

I may have technically been "hazed," but the most traumatic thing that I went through during my initiation process was that official interrogation.

A few weeks later, the national board declared that our chapter was guilty of hazing because we were "forced" to do certain things that singled us out as new members, like carrying the tote bags. They implemented a strict action plan: We could no longer have off-campus events (which was difficult since we didn't have a sorority house). Older sisters weren't allowed to meet one-on-one with new members — even something like grabbing a coffee after a meeting was considered inappropriate. Some activities, like the interviews, were scrapped altogether.

I later became president of the sorority and was forced to adhere to the action plan that was supposedly the result of the hazing committed against me. We often asked new members to come up with ideas for activities so no one could accuse us of hazing them. Almost every idea they suggested, like taking trips together or pairing up with older sisters, was something we couldn't risk executing for fear it would cost us our chapter. I felt bad for the new girls, like they were getting a lukewarm welcome and missing out on the chance to bond as much as I had with my sisters during those first few months.

The witch-hunt for hazing on college campuses has become so real, it is its own worst enemy. National chapters hand down rules and threaten anyone who doesn't follow them. Of course sororities need to be accountable for the actions of their members, and claims against hazing should be investigated. But national leaders should model the behavior they expect sisters to take with their new members. They should be concerned for the right reasons — on your side, not trying to punish you.

Too many restrictions eliminate the opportunity for the new members to get to know their sisters. For example, is it going to make a girl a little uncomfortable to stand up and give a speech in front of her sisters? Maybe. But I was uncomfortable doing that in my marketing class.

By hyper-regulating what a sorority can and can't do, the national organizations punish their chapters without addressing the real problem of hazing: forcing someone to participate. Every new member should be able to bow out of an activity without being put on the spot, ridiculed, and punished. National sorority members and the women they advise likely agree on this point. It's a shame when they're pitted against each other.